The climb into the upper reaches of the basalt range was a journey through a landscape that seemed to be forgetting itself. As Aegis ascended, the path became less a matter of stone and more a matter of solidified concepts. The air grew thin, smelling not of oxygen, but of ozone and old, dried ink.
His newly acquired Strength 2 allowed him to haul his frame over ledges that would have been impossible an hour before, yet the physical exertion was quickly being eclipsed by a psychological pressure. The Origin World was beginning to reveal its seams.
He reached a plateau that looked out over the sprawling silver-green plains. From this height, the perspective shifted. The rolling fields did not look like geography anymore; they looked like rows of unfinished text, swaying in a wind that followed a hidden meter. The mountains behind him were not just rocks, but giant, petrified commas and periods, punctuating the silence of a world that was still being drafted.
